Forbidden Fruit - Dani Rene Page 0,2

desk in a few short steps. My eyes lock on the window which overlooks the garden, and a plan formulates in my mind. My gaze darts around the greenery, the plush verdant growth, and I make my decision. With my heart racing, hammering wildly against my ribcage, I utter the words, “I want you.” I confess. Again. Not meeting his gaze, instead looking at the peacefulness and serenity outside. The tranquility. Silence surrounds us like a thick fog. Heavy with understanding, but burning with lust.

“Why?” His voice is raspy when he voices his question. Just one word. Honestly, I’m not sure what to tell him. When I walked into the church today, I wanted to come in here and seduce him. As bad as that is, I couldn’t take the tension that seemed to emanate from him each time I’m around. After our confessional orgasm this morning, I knew for sure he wanted me.

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” I tell him, taking a step toward the window. My finger trails the wooden beam holding the glass. The top is filled with color, the image of a sheep in the field. I know I’m going to hell for doing this, but my need overrides my morals.

His body heat cocoons me from behind as his reflection appears in the glass before me. As if he’s all around me. “If we do this . . . ,” he whispers in my ear, causing a shudder to ripple through me like a stone skipping on the water.

“No one can know,” I affirm confidently. It’s enough for him because his lips find purchase on my neck, suckling the sensitive skin. His hands on my hips tug me back against a thick erection that presses into my ass. Pushing against him, I feel him hiss against my neck. The heat of his breath fans over me, causing goose bumps to rise in its wake. His teeth bite down on my flesh as he finally takes his communion of my body.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs.

“It’s forbidden,” I whisper.

Our confession doesn’t stop us. His hands stroke me reverently. “This is wrong,” he confirms, but nothing stops us. His fingers tease the zipper of my jeans open, then his fingers dip into the waistband.

My breathing is ragged, and my chest heaves with desire. He stalls when he reaches the elastic of my panties. The ache that starts low in my stomach feels heavy, needy. My clit throbs. I reach for his hand, teasing it down my silky underwear.

“Don’t,” he hisses, but the need in his tone is enough.

Ignoring him, I move his hand with mine until his fingers find my slick heat. My pussy pulses for him. “Just touch me,” I moan when he finally delves a digit into my core. “This is my confession, Father.” I moan as my head drops back. His lips suckle on my heated flesh like I’m his salvation, but I know I’ll be his downfall.

“This is my sin, little lamb,” he growls. Thick digits pump in and out of my body as it accepts him. His movements are gentle. Slow and steady. Taunting and teasing. I’m so close. My body hums, thrums with need. His fingers fuck me. My hips roll against him.

“Yes, Father. Let me repent. Please?” I plead. My voice is hoarse, laced with desire. I shouldn’t want this, but I do. Father Reid, the man who’s still wearing the white collar around his neck, is about to make me come on his fingers. In his office. In the church.

“Come, Sage. Let your body go. Give me your confession. Let me relieve you of your sin.” That’s when it hits. My body convulses, tightening around his fingers. “That’s it, sweet lamb, come for me. Worship the feeling,” he murmurs so seductively it caresses every inch of my body. I cry out as it hits me, but his free hand quickly covers my mouth, stifling the sound.

I think he’s going to pull out, but he doesn’t relent; instead, he continues to finger-fuck me. As I ride the wave of my orgasm, I realize this has gone where it shouldn’t.

This is far from a fantasy.

This is real.

It’s bad.

It’s dirty and taboo.

But I want it.

Every filthy moment.

Reid

The sunlight brings with it memories of yesterday. And it brings images of the girl, the woman I defiled. As much as I wanted it, I should’ve refrained. Sage’s lips begged, and I delivered. Instead of telling her to pray, I slid my hand down the front of